T.S. Eliot may have proclaimed April as the cruelest month, but March is giving it a run for its money this year as the fourth nor’easter in three weeks comes the day after spring arrives.

March surely came in like a lion, blowing down trees and limbs with abandon, but shows no inclination to go out like a lamb. In a gentler month these winds would serve to disperse the pollen of our elm, ash and willow trees. Instead, the trees bore the brunt of their destructive forces.

Where are the spring ephemerals — those wildflowers that pop up, bloom, fruit, and disappear before most of the trees unfurl their leaves? The bloodroot, trout lily, trillium, anemone, and spring beauty that remind us warmer days will come?

Eliot’s poem is called The Waste Land. Seems appropriate for this month.